Curiosity
by andshecryz
Summary: Pitch Black x Oc (Pre-Movie/Mid-Movie)
1. Becoming

**Disclaimer: Rise of the Guardians character names belong to Christina Steinberg, Nancy Bernstein, William Joyce, (and so on) unless stated or implied an OC which in case belong to the author, andshecryz. No copyright infringement is intended. Plagiarism is theft so is prohibited. Do not copy or create a reproduction of this work in any language without express written authorization of the author, andshecryz. Thank you...Please enjoy. c:**

**Pitch x Oc **

**Enjoy~ **

**Chapter 1; 'Becoming'**

* * *

She could recall nothing before the moon, the air...cold, and the forest...dark. It gave her light as she dragged herself onto bare feet, the circle's surface cratered and marred, standing beside the stars in some oddly dignified appearance of strength and protection.

The crisp feel of autumn leaves beneath her toes surprised the girl with its eerily familiar crunch, their texture rough against the naked skin of her heels. She was unaware for most of her awakening, her cold breath lost in countless thoughts as she struggled to remember her own tongue. She sniffled, the woods so thick that she couldn't see beyond the first stalk of trees and the air so freezing that a fog had formed from her breath when she'd parted her colorless lips. She swallowed to soothe the dry ache in her throat before looking back up, the moon still teasing her escalating curiosity as it lay still and clear through the only opening in the tree tops for, as far as she could tell, miles.

She set a hand against one, the bark hard...and it took the child a moment to remember why the texture was so familiar...and what it was called. Her breathing was finally even, eyes still staring at that lone source of light as endless woodland banter echoed in the distance. Her attention continued to waver, confusion and the strong memories of general knowledge forming within her mind at a painfully slow pace that only tortured the girl more.

_You are Hallow. _

Breathing hitched...she heard it. She was stunned as he spoke to her...his existence suddenly known in her developing mind as the light reached to her transparent form with his words.

_You are the keeper of Hallow's Eve. _

Her head began to hurt...and every memory of the previous keeper flooded her thoughts in a wave of despair, realization, and fear. Stingy Jack, a tricky blacksmith who'd enjoyed his share of pranks too often to be safe. After his 'retirement', along with the denial of passage to a proper afterlife, he was made a guardian as the last resort for his soul. And as of late...he was finally free to dissipate into nothing but dying beliefs; he had faded because he was no longer real...not even to the Guardians. Hallow was his replacement, because it was required and a holiday could not be left without watch. But she feared, because no one had heard of her...the though of fading away just as quickly as she'd come still forcing her longing questions to hesitate against the white of her lips.

_Hallow. _

The Man in the Moon had repeated her name faintly, his tone a mere whisper against her ears as it had even the first time.

She immediately understood, her lungs finally discovering the air to expel her inquiries without fear.

"Why me?" She'd asked so thoughtlessly, his reply simply a silence filled with nothing but stiff, cold, wind. A chill caught the girl off guard, and her arms quickly wrapped around her shivering form as the leaves blew with the gusts of air and tickled her ankles. Her rags whipped around in the breeze, and she realized she was not normal.

Purple eyes caught sight of her hands as she made an attempt at warming herself. They were...near invisible. A small dim outline running along her skin and clothes, ensuring that a figure could be seen upon her arrival. Were all people...transparent?

No. Hallow remembered that well. They were different colors; maybe pale or dark or tanned, but she...she was...nothing. Her balance had wobbled in a step as her foot set itself firmly on something rounded, the solid feel of the wood too smooth to be a simple stick. She bent down and clutched it in her grasp, the object covered in leaves and ruffling as Hallow pulled it further into her view. A broom. A broom?

A broom.

Simple, sturdy..._floating_. A small hand, gripping it as tightly as possible, was raised with the object...a sensation of completion unfolding within the depths of her tiny body just by the mere feel of the utensil as her toes left the moist ground. Despite its abilities it was old...sturdy and made of wood and thin branches that were wrapped to the end of the stick with a thick, brown cloth. Crooked; imperfect. She enjoyed it, and as it rose higher the youth pulled her weight up and straddled it to keep balance...as one would a horse.

A horse. She didn't know how she knew that...she just knew what a horse was. And she knew she liked them as well.

And the question of '_why_?' became repetitive with each evening that the moon was full.

He never once answered her questions. He simply watched, and she knew it too.

* * *

She never once spoke to the moon again after their first encounter, after her becoming. She paid no attention to him...she had people to entertain and preparations to make during the year. She had thoughts to...think over. She was not a 'named' Guardian...but Hallow simply watched over her beloved holiday, making sure that the children were happy and devious in their fun that maturity and age squandered.

The children meant so much to her, their laughter and mischief and brightly contagious smiles upon the evening of Halloween. She took care of them and their sweetened needs and cravings for fruit and breads and candies on that one day. Their laughter was even better than their smiles; their squeals and hums were pleasant and the single day that belonged to her caused them. She enjoyed it despite her own youth; the girl was still 'young' even after two hundred years. Young enough to enjoy the meager tricks paid to those who had no spirit for the holiday, costing them time or tolerance.

Of course this earned her a prime spot on North's naughty list...but that was the fun of it! The looks of unsure disappointment that were a mix of humor and concern.

_"You must find your center..."_ He'd told her upon their very first meeting as he stitched together a rag-doll bear. Little did the Russian know at the ghost's center was deviance; not necessarily _ruthless_ deviance...but fun or casual abnormalities that defied the average actions within society. She cared no more of opinions than she did about Christmas. Yet, one would expect such a ruffian to have a carefree personality. No, she was often quiet. Only expressive upon absolute comfort or within the safe and nonjudgemental confines of her mind.

"Trick of treat!" Simultaneously they all sang it with a form of excitement that Hallow genuinely appreciated, a form of exasperation that beckoned her attention. The woman inside gave them each a measly, worn-down button...and Hallow could envision herself frowning as the children's shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment at such incivility. Her holiday was for sweets! Not useless household items meant to pose as insults!

Of course nothing was fancy at this time. The year was early into the 1800's...a year which always slipped her playful mind that was consistently wrapped around deceit. Either way...a treatless Halloween was unacceptable. Rude, inadmissible, and aberrant!

She flew forward, feet dangling and toes barely skimming the dirt as she approached and swiftly phased through each child as if the wind, this thin sparkle of mischief glowing faintly within their eyes as she granted their imaginations to run humorously wild. This was, after all, trick or treat.

The woman quickly scurried from inside her cabin yelling as the children released the hitch on her front gate, the cow shuffling out with a ringing bell on its neck to warn her of some upcoming calamity. She quickly took off after it, and Hallow swiftly carried forth three peaches from the home with a content expression; hands being held forward as an offering to the kids as they shared a laugh. She had hoped that they would accept her...she prayed that they would appreciate her.

The first observation as the first blonde child turned around was her transparent form...she was clear and see through and...a ghost. Through the years she had earned herself many names or references of legends: witch, ghost, phantom. All terms of fear or mockery that she'd become accustom to. Blue eyes widened and his laughter ceased, expression quickly fearful and face pale. His second companion did the same, and third simply went silent.

So, as expected, the children ran. Only the third staying behind with a gaping mouth to admire her unique appearance. It was reassuring to see that they all believed...but...they ran. They always ran.

"Wow, you-...you're a ghost!" The boy yelled a little too loudly and ran forward, the thought of trick or treat less than exciting by this point. His clothes were rags, his sweets bucket a hollowed out turnip with a carved evil face and his feet were naked on the dirt. His hair was a rugged mess of greasy red and the freckles on his nose crinkled as he sniffed from the cold. She smiled warmly, and he held out his little turnip bucket expectantly of the fruit in her palms.

Hallow didn't like turnips...she would have to change it, preferably to pumpkins one of these days. She liked pumpkins. And although they were much more popular in the Western part of the world, they were her favorite.

"Here." Her voice...it was whispy. It was like a faint echo barely capable of holding a steady tone. It made him flinch back a bit, despite the soft expression of love in her face. That had always been vague, usually going unnoticed for obvious reasons. She appeared dead, something she'd assumed that the Moon hadn't intended.

"That's bloody amazing!" Purple eyes widened a bit as her grin grew, surprise still evident by this boy's outgoing behavior. Fearless, and confident even as she came closer and dropped the peaches into his hollow turnip with care.

She smiled again, and in response he laughed a bit and thanked her before turning heel and taking off to go gloat at his friends in hopeful excitement. He had stayed and received something worth while, while the others had taken off in fright of her arrival.

Despite all of their fear...she loved the children with all of her soul. Fear did nothing...it only beckoned a lowly creature into her territory. His eerie presence made her stiffen; she didn't like his company much less his powers. Her bright mood of play and fun was eradicated upon his visit.

"I see it never changes?" Such a snide remark, she noted, came from behind her. The chuckles that followed it making her rigid in caution. His voice was so twisted with sarcasm and suggestion that she could never truly be sure of the actual intentions of his words. He swung around, the fluid movements seeming too surreal to be so unnaturally evil as he inspected the unbothered countenance she wore. The pearly teeth that dug roughly into her bottom lip and the scrunching of her petite nose that implied irritation made up such a daring face. He couldn't have cared less.

"Pitch..." That was her first mistake; how unintentionally shaken she seemed as Hallow sputtered his name. His smile stretched slowly, that sound so obviously enticing to the man that she assumed couldn't last a day without hearing the sound of his own voice.

"I figured you'd be out West." In the rising America, Hallow'd thought. With countless children that seemed to outnumber what few adults that'd originally settled there. Europe apparently wasn't safe from his touch either, nor had China, Australia, or Russia been. He was this bellowing plague of insufferable arrogance and pompous egoism. Focused on only encasing the world in his detrimental fear.

"I decided to..._delay_ such a trip." It was not any form of verbal speech, it was a hiss of darkness that she'd found to be nothing short of a threat.

"And why come to me?" Sounding calm had seemed easier in her head, even with that ghostly overtone she held...that whisper she would echo seemed like the sweetest sound in comparison to his own. Still he seemed throughly amused by her inquiries, the sheer expression of daring confidence she forced meaning nothing with that slight break in her voice. It was oddly endearing.

"It hasn't become _obvious_?" Another smirk, so haughty and pressing as he leaned forward to meet her slanted gaze. He was so much taller, and it irked her to no end. She had to tilt her head to even steal a glance at his ugly mug.

"Apparently _not_." Her answer forced on a frown. A simple success that she basked in for only a moment. He circled her as if a predator, and in this situation he truly was. Nimble fingers traced the curve of her throat as he pulled her closer from behind. His touch felt like acid, and she felt like a stiffened brick set into the concrete of fear.

"..._Curiosity_." It was a whispered breath that flowed smoothly past her hair and into her ear. Curiosity?

"I have no current nor previous life. I see no reason to be curious, _Pitch_." Had he not been so confident he would have winced at the sound of his belittled name. Yet he didn't. Everyone feared him...even that damn tooth fairy feared him. Pitch had no reason to _not_ be confident.

"Curious as to why you continue your feeble attempts at surviving when _no_ _one_ believes in you, darling." Again so snide.

"Hmm. Now you've made _me_ curious." She pulled his grasp away swiftly, turning to face the Bogeyman with the most courageous and impulsive look she could manage. Not that it did much, considering she appeared no older than a mere teenager and had the eyes of a woman who lived on her own desperation. Though he knew she was anything but.

He only laughed at such an attempt of fearlessness, striding forward in one quickened step. His palm encircled her chin, fingers pressed into the soft chubbiness of her cheeks and eyes focusing on the suddenly pursed form of her lips.

It wasn't often that he felt lust...but the amount didn't matter. It was simply the disgustingly _truthful_ fact that he felt it even if only on rare occasions. This was unfortunately one of them. But...how could he not? Such an adorable toy, obviously fearful of him yet unwilling to admit it in any form. A challenge is how he saw it. Something he wanted to-_no_...something he _needed_ to break.

Even as he smoothed his thumb over the lightly speckled skin beneath her eye, he felt the relentless compulsion to crack such a porcelain-like doll. There was so much to someone so seemingly lifeless. So many little and visible things that beckoned questions; that rounded scar on her forehead, the need to appear strong, that distant look in her stare. It made him observe her further, tightening his grip only slightly to bring her face closer to his own.

She surprisingly did not struggle, but only glowered in begrudging resentment while meeting the warm gold of his eyes as he lifted her an inch off the ground by her chin. Her grip around the handle of her broom became tight, the loosened crack of her knuckles exposing the concealed discomfort she'd refused to show him.

Another smirk of pride, so uncomfortably close to her own pursed frown that it felt like some odd violation of her being. His other hand pushed transparent lochs of hair behind her ear, and a flashback from a nightmare seemed to return to haunt her. Hallow swallowed thickly and Pitch noticed, responding with a faint breath that skimmed her nose with the warm smell of pine. Disgusting despite how realistically pleasant it was. At first glance one would assume he'd carry the stench of death...but nothing of the sort.

"My _dear_ Hallow, while my curiosity is but a mere game, yours...will get you _killed_." He set a kiss upon her forehead, the press eerie and gentle as she felt his smile spread against her skin. A shiver of plain fear rattled through her bones, and she quickly used her ability; allowing him to phase though her already transparent body, earning a rather startled and mildly irritated look from the other Guardian. She stepped back from him in urgency and responded with a gaze of thick, unwavering hatred. Her own form of a warning; reminding him of what little power she held, and what little power she could _use_.

"I have work to do. It's Halloween...there are children to-"

"-Terrify?" He mocked, merely toying with her emotions as one cruelly would an animal, his frustration dissolved at the opportunity of derision.

"_To care for._" She snapped back, and in one flighty gust of wind he found her gone. Rags, hair, broom and all.

This was fun, he'd concluded. Bothering Hallow was _so_, _much_, _fun_.

_**~End Chapter One**_

* * *

_A request for; Detailed-Reaper. _**Happy birthday, I hope it's what you were looking for! c;**

**I saw this movie about a month ago, give or take, and loved it. Enough to want to read the novels. ****_'The Guardians of Childhood' _****book series is supposedly amazing and worth while, taking place about 200 years before the movie. Yes, awesome sounding. **

**Anyway, I know my Transformer followers will look at their emails and more than likely pass this one by (which I really don't mind considering we all have our own taste in fandoms), but it was a request, and since I do happen to know Detailed-Reaper personally...I felt obligated to do it as quickly as possible for her birthday and Christmas. Plus the movie was great and I loved the bad guy enough to create a pairing...as always. ****_Pft_****. **

_As a final note; Late Merry Christmas, Hanukkah, and/or Kwanzaa! Hope your holiday goes smoothly and joyous! c: _

* * *

**Please Review? **


	2. Fear

**Pitch x Oc**

**Enjoy~ **

**Chapter 2; 'Fear'**

* * *

_**Modern Day**_

* * *

She slept. So soundly, the memories of the past constant as she shifted in her place. She was walking, casually, comfortably, a man awaiting her arrival across an odd location that she couldn't quite find clear. He loved her, she saw it in his expression, and his sentiments were somehow returned. Had it ended with an embrace she would have slept pristinely, without worry or conflict an in the morn would have roused with a vague smile and a good mood.

Yet, it seemed to change; black sand shimmered at her ankles, embracing her keenly. Upon her arrival the man frowned and pulled an old gun from his ratty cloth vest, the cold metal of the barrel touching the scar adorning her skull; he found no hesitation in pulling the trigger with a smug smile that she swore was familiar. A smile that chilled her unconscious being.

Hallow woke with a jolt, sudden and shaky with this awful sense of absolute fear. Had she been capable of sweating the girl swore she would've been soaked; breathing frantic and body pained with an unbearable tension. Her hand went to her forehead, the feel of uneven skin chilling and eerie as it throbbed. It had no memory or meaning...in fact she'd never seen the scar, or even knew what it was. Her reflection was nonexistent, so it felt like a simple bump. The ghost wrongly assumed it was a birth mark or abnormality, it didn't matter; it only reminded her of such a dream. One of the many that'd recently plagued her mind.

All ending with a shot, stab, or hit to that particular spot on her forehead. The nightmares were trying to tell her something. They had an unbecoming message that, in complete an utter honesty, she could care less of. They tore down her strength, terrifying her until shaky, and left her with questions that even she was uncertain of. It was too much. The dreams were too much.

Thankfully, she at least knew of their source.

* * *

"I grow weary of it." She said, the supernatural echo soft against his ears as North set a heavy hand on her tiny back. Her hair, long and seemingly endless, flowed elegantly without breeze or wind just as her dress did. She stared at his largely centered globe, each dim light warming her heart despite the organ's nonexistence, the sheer feel of spirit always seeming like a just replacement. The children...all the children in this ever changing world that would only seek out happiness and peace. The way they played tricks and the ways they made jokes...it never ceased to make her grin. It gave her some sense of enjoyed immaturity to bask in.

"Do not worry, Hallow..." That Russian accent was familiar by now. "...they will believe in you again. It only takes time."

Yes. Time. He'd said that for the past two hundred years. _Time_.

"Indeed." The tiny elves, truly wary of her presence alone, wandered away from the two as they sat in silence, yetis working endlessly on wooden toys and instruments as the season drew closer. It all seemed very frantic, and she couldn't help herself but to feel as though a bother during such a busied time. Christmas was only a month away.

Christmas...the one holiday that was truly superior to her own. Easter was only cute children's play, lacking any serious fun to respond to. And church! She couldn't imagine sitting through such an overly elongated religious service. On a holiday much less?

"It's not only that." North looked to her with even more concern than normal. His little desk project now completely unimportant as the tired expression in her eyes seemed to sharpen.

"I cannot sleep...the nightmares are too much anymore." His fist tightened, and he stood from his chair loudly as expected.

Pitch was to blame for this. Pitch was to blame for her lack of energy, he lack of will, her failure to meet deadlines and the children that went disappointed on Halloween. The children who believed in nothing but recovering candy. The holiday was mere fun, there was no reason for its origin to be told or an explanation to be passed down, no one _needed_ to know of Hallow, or Stingy Jack. Hallow, if now incapable to prove her worth as a guardian, would eventually disappear.

North couldn't allow that. It was like sitting back to watch a painful execution. Pitch required a place, one that left him incapable of causing damage with that new ability of his. The ability to invade dreams...a simple counter to all of Sandy's perpetual efforts on a nightly basis.

If only he could do something...Christmas was too near. Hallow would hopefully last another few weeks.

* * *

It was cold, her body stirring in its place on a large tree branch. Her toes curled, her breathing hitched in the bottom of her lungs and this thin blanket of fear was wrapped around her subconscious like a snake wrapped around a mouse. Closed eyes tightened, wincing in her ethereal slumber as the blackened form of fear itself began to infest her resting mind.

A whisper tickled her ear like velvet and the snap of twigs immediately pulled the ghost from her sleep, the air of the forest crisp yet unsettled as if disturbed. Someone was here, and although she was fully capable of jumping to conclusions and blaming the Bogeyman, there were too many possibilities. A hunter, a lost child, a large animal set on having a good meal...yes, too many realistic possibilities. But...such a bitter nightmare was too distinct, too planned...too powerful to be just the usual tragic dream he would 'gift' her. Ever since he mastered such an ability...she could only fear him more than she used to. Although he had no right to be confident...he was much more powerful. Stronger. It was intimidating even without his presence.

Purple eyes narrowed before holding her head in response to a throbbing headache, using the tree she slept on often as leverage as she attempted to stand.

It happened fast, it happened painfully...but the gut wrenching feel of déjà vu sent chills up her spine as the cold feel of a hand set itself around her throat, pressing her back against the chapped and rigid trunk of her usual resting place. The endless flowing of her hair ceased and fell flat, and her gown lay still due to the indescribable trepidation that suddenly plagued her heart.

"_Pitch_?" That voice of a phantom...it echoed faintly as gold irises dug deeply into that shaken purple. She sounded so panicked. It only encouraged his ongoing curiosity.

"Hallow." A smirk. A daring smirk as if he'd completed a challenge, as if he'd won something. It widened at her trembling intake of air, the satisfaction it gave indescribable. Her stiffened silence only made the moment even richer, and the pale cold of her skin beckoned him to trail every inch of her being with his hands; with shadows.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just _kill_ me?" Her gaze grew heavy, and he couldn't explain it. He wanted her, terribly.

It had recently become beyond indefinable.

"Now, my dear Hallow, why would I do _that_?" So aloof, so contemptuous and smug and suggestive. She winced, the touch becoming gentle and simple, carrying less harmful intentions. Her heels rested back onto her branch, the lack of weight causing no creak or shuffle as she attempted to keep herself afloat.

A silence formed, tense, as he caressed her cheek with an expression of mock pity. One made of a humored smile and furrowed brows.

"...Leave me alone." It seemed like a threat, a simple audacious whisper that he was sure came out more forward than she'd intended. So pleasant and endearing.

"Hmm..._no_."

"Then _why_?!" A break, finally a question of desperation and self-pity. Of confusion and discomfort all morphed into some disgusting emotion that she felt eager to rip from her skin. "_What_ do you _want_?!"

"Isn't it _obvious_?" He hissed it, seeming so excited in telling her. Face scrunching with a grin and narrowed eyes as he drew closer.

She shook her head. Misunderstanding, disorientation, headache all plaguing her fitfully.

"No..." A whimper, the cry of someone who was suffering. Who was afraid for no reason too often. She couldn't overcome it. Everyone else had, but she couldn't bring herself to lock out such fear. He tormented her with it in her _dreams_...in her _reality_. He was her only fear, and she couldn't bring herself to kill him...because mischief and deviance required a little fright and apprehension. Or else it wouldn't be such fun in the aftermath.

"I want _you_." The darkness, the sudden feel of adrenaline against her transparent complexion made her eyes widen and her jaw clench. It was intoxicating to say the least. Her answer was delayed, replaced by the slow exhale of timidity and awe that left a bad taste in the back of her throat. She was on the verge of tears, completely disquieted as the demand drilled itself into her mind. "I want _your help_."

"_No_." His grip tightened, and she tensed again at such a foreign feel. The only other person who'd touched her was North, and after all these years it was a mere pat on the back or a gentle, one-armed embrace. Jack had tripped and tumbled into her once, but that caused more pain than it did comfort, and it'd been so brief and mild that she payed it no attention. "I won't help you."

"I didn't _ask_." He grew irritated, and with it his hold became that much more uncomfortable, rounding her neck as his free hand held her shoulder.

"And-and I didn't _offer_." She winced, his breath warm against her cheek as he leaned in closer than what was comfortable. "Just leave me alone or I'll inform North-"

"-North? That oversized _elf_? It's nearly Christmas. He doesn't have _time_ for you." Her threat was shot down within the instant. How utterly useless. He was right, after all; North was too busy playing 'Santa Clause'.

"It doesn't matter. I don't care." Narrowed eyes bore into his own, wary yet barely confident. It grew as she argued, as if challenged. Yet it did not dull her fear.

"What if I _offer_ something in exchange?"

"Like what?" She spat it, that ghostly overtone of a faint echo seeming deeper and louder with such audacity. Her struggles became useless, and she was much to tired to phase through him. Purple eyes glanced at her broom that, possibly during their tiff, had fallen to the forest floor. She was trapped.

"Your _past_." He said it as though serious, as though it were something of pointed interest and extreme importance. She nearly scoffed a brave laugh.

"Have I ever been one who seemed to care? I'm here now, it shouldn't matter."

"I figured your own _death_ would have interested you, I guess I was wrong." He sneered it into her ear, and the crude upturn of lips that he displayed upon her stunned expression only made the moment colder. The moon seemed stiff as well, it's light blue and tense as the truth was presented as though a trophy. She became limp in his hold, and he stepped back as she leaned heavily into the tree. A quick escalation, Pitch noted.

"I-...I died?" Her gaze shifted to the moon. He had never told her, granted he never told her more than her name...but it made no difference. It made nothing brighter and nothing less gruesome. Suddenly she wanted to know...in that instant she needed to know.

"_Terribly_."

"How would you know? I have no reason to believe _you_." She snapped at him, as expected. Her hair lifted elegantly with the breeze, the ambiguity and negative exasperation coaxing her abilities. Transparent skin seemed to illuminate against the moon light, and for a moment Hallow seemed almost frightful in her fit of rage. He could only smile wider, if it were possible, and extend an open palm as a harmless gesture.

"My _dear_ Hallow...I was _there_."

Had she carried a heart in her chest, it would have stopped.

"_Liar_." Her temper intensified, and he sensed her immense fear. It was thick, alluring and fascinating to the ears and eyes. He could smell the rich ferocity it excreted, and Pitch held back the desire to embrace her with need.

"Ask your '_friend'_." He whispered it smugly, and she looked to the moon with an unreadable expression. This look of disbelief and pain, a misunderstanding beyond anyone's full comprehension. White brows furrowed, lips curved downwards, and she swallowed thickly. Her rags fluttered and her hair whipped around before she quickly began fading; turning invisible and disappearing into her surroundings. Pitch looked down, her broom left behind and being covered with the fluttering foil age and fallen leaves. Its place below seeming distant and freezing. She'd left it behind?

Then he'd won her over. There was no doubt in his mind. The spirit of Halloween...was _his_ for the _taking_.

_**~End Chapter Two**_

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**All I ask is that you please Review? **


	3. Gold

**Pitch x Oc**

**Enjoy~ **

**Chapter 3; 'Gold'**

* * *

_**Modern Day**_

* * *

It wasn't until another nightfall that she sought him out, the only bitter glances of distrust being give to the Moon. Her transparent form lingered about, the month of December rather uneventful within her personal schedule. Even with the constant distraction of Christmas it managed to bother her.

The truth had bothered her. She was conflicted now, feeling concerned and wanting to know and then scolding herself for even peeving over something so insignificant in the first place. But...this wasn't insignificant, in fact it was more than likely the answer to her thousands of questions that the Moon had refused her within the last three hundred years. Great...yet _another_ lone argument escalating within the confines of her mind; that was the last thing she needed.

The ghost paused her anxiety and watched for a moment, the old skeleton of a bed over that dim hole he called home adding to the eerie vibe. She instinctively pondered it, Hallow's curiosity being one of the many individual traits that assisted in creating her center of deviance. That and the inhuman enjoyment of another's panic...better yet their bottomless humiliation that she managed to cause.

Even as detrimental, vexing and troublesome as she was, Hallow didn't live in a pit set miles out into the forest that'd been strategically placed to avoid most, if not all, of the human race. Some inconspicuous snake dwelling that was guarded by the pathetic sight of a rickety old bed frame, possibly twice her own elongated age.

What was he? The Bogey-...

"_Oh_."

Purple eyes narrowed as she bit into her lower lip, hair composing itself after her expressive flair of inner turmoil when considering the possibility of a past life. How would she handle this? Storm in with a demanding glare and yell for the answers at the top of her lungs? Or would she rather formally knock on the edge of the dry rotted wood and await a warm welcome at the front of his isolated little cave? The decision alone seemed so sarcastically conflicting, one beyond tempting and the other almost boring. She sighed, a knot in her stomach twisting as she looked around for her broom.

"That's right..." She mumbled to herself. Pitch had taken it upon her leave. She felt rather indolent for allowing the only object she could call 'friend' be taken due to her uncouthly emotional carelessness. And now she missed it. Of course, that's usually the way such a relationship would work. One day it isn't needed and the next she finds herself broomless, and rather limited in power without it.

That broom is what assisted in beckoning the dead souls back to Earth and enabled her to fly higher than what her feet alone could take her. It assisted in forging the deviance that she bestowed upon others, and, although pathetic, it was her only companion. She spoke to the damn thing...upon occasion.

Hallow swallowed, hands seeming clammy despite their inability to sweat or grow warm. Her toes curled into the dirt just as she set herself on the ground, purple gaze still focused on that damned hole. This was somehow beyond conflicting, something so simple as a decision that proved the girl to be mentally constipated and more or less intimidated by the same man who'd instigated this entire ordeal.

It was beyond frustrating. Still, she managed her trademark smile of deviance that, due to her lack of activity in the past few days, seemed foreign against her lips. It felt good to find her center again, almost refreshingly pleasant. She would sneak in, perhaps take a gander at 'The Nightmare King's' secluded domain, and then seek him out when she saw fit. It was her own time, after all. She wasn't really invited, but, then again...did it really matter?

* * *

_Spooky._ A single word to define his lair of elusive darkness that she seemed to be constantly mocking with a sideways grin. Her fingers trailed the wall, prints gently gliding cross the rigid stones as she floated with the intentions of exploring every musky tunnel and cave. An adventure this peculiarly enticing was rare anymore, and although shocking people nearly to death was humorously entertaining, a new distraction was required every hundred years or so.

She looked up, a coarse echo emanating from one of the elongated halls catching Hallow's keen attention. It sounded so familiar, but she was certain it hadn't been Pitch; it was almost too animalistic...or...perhaps it was Pitch? The ghost raised an inquisitive brow in reference to her own question, the thought somehow just as fascinating as snooping further.

A sudden coarse roar of noise made her jump, the swiftness of this particular creature astounding as it charged and circled her; observing the disturbance. A fine trail of sand was left in the wake of its hooves, crushing what lie beneath them and all of what was in its way. It blew a heated breath from its nostrils and lashed about, the eyes a metallic yellow that seemed to sink into its features with a daring expressiveness caught in the shine.

Hallow jolted back, floating upwards in reasonable caution as she'd done numerous times when faced with a bear or mountain lion clawing up a tree. A panicked feel irrupted in the base of her gut, the animal's ruckus sure to attract the suddenly unwanted attention of the domain's resident. Surly this was Pitch's security measure, a large Nightmare with the obvious strength of ten men and enough visual intimidation to wary the dead.

She acted as quickly as possible, setting a stiffened finger to her lips and shushing the creature with obvious impatience. She stilled herself, sucking in a deep breath as the stallion began to feel a tranquil gust of wind chill over its skin and tangle its mane. Hallow floated towards the floor tentatively; lips pursed, ready to send another chill of wind from her lungs to relax the stallion. Had it not been twice her size, she would have considered pulling its mane or taunting it.

Dainty toes touched the floor and it ceased its exited thrashing, the animal's head bobbing in her direction before huffing a second breath, expelling a high-pitched neigh as it peddled its front hooves against the ground. She finally let her heels touch the floor, although in the most cautious way, and stiffened while it leaned forward. A single hoof stomped rigidly, the sands of its body continuously waving with its jolting movements just as her hair and skirt did with her own. She slowly extended a hand, fingers timidly shaking against the cold of the cave as she awaited a response. It flared its nostrils against her hesitant touch, the pads of her fingers barely skimming the coarse sand of its snout. She flinched and pulled back in response to its nod, only to reach further and elongate her brief touch into a gentle stroke.

Her palm ran across the bridge of its nose, yet another huff of a sigh escaping the horse's lungs. It was suddenly content, perking the sand of its ears and striding forward into the ginger aloofness of her touch. Her smile broadened in a shaky form of disbelief as she recalled just how much she'd adored horses, in fact she'd forgotten how visually majestic they often were. A smile spread over her lips, the sand of its body oddly calming in the swirling consistency it held beneath her hand. Yellow orbs closed against the foreign feel of a comforting contingent that nearly succeeded in soothing him to sleep. Each stroke gentle, trusting and careful; an unusual feel that the animal hadn't been accustomed to.

"You realize you'll have nightmares tonight?" He startled her, the voice pointed and humored enough to dictate the person without visual confirmation. She continued petting the Fearling despite the sudden stiffness in her bones, pretending to be unfazed by his presence. The ghost had briefly forgotten the feeling of fear due to her inept anger and rather distracting confusion, how that sinking aloofness of trepidation would shake her into a nearly physical pain. She'd forgotten how terrifying Pitch truly was, and now Hallow could only wallow in her own stupidity for even considering entering his residence in hopes of confronting him. She hadn't been paying attention, deciding on snooping into his own home as though entitled to do so. How thoughtless!

"I've become used to them." Her words were spat hastily and her glower was unsuccessful, not a single tinge of guilt presenting itself over his features. He still smirked in the most haughty manner possible, perhaps just to irk her and spread that gross feel of discomfort.

"It didn't seem that way earlier." The reference was cunning, slightly bitter to mention the previous night. "I haven't even _started_, Hallow." He was bluffing with that cunning tone of his, of course. She could see it in that sideways smile, though the reassuring fact of his lie did nothing to calm her. Especially as he drew closer, the mare peddling back as commanded and trotting off in a swift glaze of blackened sands. She extended her reach, grasp soft against the air as she literally longed for said creature to return.

"_Tell me_." She nipped her words at him, eyes narrowed in haste and lips pressed firmly together into a curved line. Her nose twitched, perhaps of out anger or possibly out of hesitation.

"Tell you _what_?" He leaned forward, hands still clamped together at the arch of his back and smile still offhandedly sly. The arch of his brow rose and those eyes stung at her with a daring glint that seemed to force the girl to swallow her words. But...there was something in that oddly expressive gaze that she couldn't place; she despised their color.

There was a reason she didn't like gold. Although her problem seemed much more complicated than a simple opinion, judging by her lack of recollection as to _why_ something so pristine and elegant seemed crude and disgusting. No, she couldn't remember, but...there was certainly an explanation, there was no doubt in her mind that she had a reason. Gold was dirty, selfish, and cold...the tainted color or _greed_...she knew it was, but upon looking further into his eyes with deliberation she found it clean, and oddly warm.

This particular gold was no less selfish, but so crisply and embracingly warm, as though he carried a decently civilized side. She denied that she liked it. Despite how awful he seemed, she enjoyed that subtle stare of consideration he gave her. A stare of observation and curiosity that was different from the few who saw her and could only exhibit fear. Hallow found that no matter what Pitch did his eyes would always appear that way, daring yet elegant and...accepting, despite her hatred for gold.

Pitch straightened himself, fixing his posture from the leaning position to meet her height back to the towering figure he so often prided. Though, he seemed to mildly pout in bored disappointment at her silence, purple irises staring uncertainly over his gaze as though examining the lids of his eyes. He sighed, chest heaving beneath the black of his cloak and form turning away to leave the ghost with her distraught complications that prevented her from groveling at his feet. He would have enjoyed that. Just as he began walking back further into his domain the usually still seems to gust forward as though the wind, her hair casting it forward as she swiftly floated to catch him.

"Tell me how I died." She finally found that forgotten courage and gripped at his cloak from behind, the threat of leaving her with an everlasting question seeming so tempting in the most relishable of ways. He glanced over his shoulder, hands set together at the arch of his back as the spirit of deviance pleaded for answers. She was begging him. The girl who always seemed so stiff with self-preservation and confidence was asking to know her own past. How cliche, how enjoyable.

He knew it, of course. He'd been there upon chance. He watched the life as it was sucked out of her body by fear, trepidation and pain. It'd been entertaining, very much so, and it seemed as though just yesterday he recognized such a scar on her forehead to be the same as the little girl's who'd stood as a sacrifice nearly three hundred years ago. The coincidence was tinted with dramatic irony that, despite his wrongdoings, proved luck was on his side.

"Pitch, _please_." She floated in front of him, hair waving behind her from such a fluid movement. Her expression was enticing, one of a mixed shame and torture that he'd wrought upon her mischievous soul. She wanted to know of her death so badly that it seemed to be killing her...yet another instance of irony. Truth be told her death was a modern-day tragedy that, back then, had been merciful and understanding. There'd been nothing special, only her own bravery and self-taught stupidity seemed to outshine most tales of misfortune.

"You refused my offer, so give me a _reason_." He said it so blatantly, as if actually considering a trade. She assumed he'd demand her help.

"You wanted my help? For what?" A frantic mutter, almost cowardly in such a tone.

He only grinned.

_**~End Chapter Three**_

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**Please Review! I would very much appreciate anything you have to say. **


	4. Confrontation

**Pitch x Oc**

**Enjoy~ **

**Chapter 4; 'Confrontation'**

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_**Modern Day**_

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He watched her, head held high in pride a though he'd been rewarded with her suffering. Her hair, tinged brown in its transparency, flared around in constant turmoil, knees against her chest and arms embracing herself as though in search of comfort. She sat quietly on the edge of some brick structure, a building littered pitifully with colored graffiti upon each wall. She hadn't noticed, the vaguely distraught idea of what she was about to do nauseating enough to blur her surroundings out of concentration. Upon hearing his snicker she flinched and shot him a glare, one of distraught bitterness that would have burned had he given a damn.

"What do you want?" Broken was the only proper description he could mentally establish. Hallow sounded beautifully broken in the sense of utter despair and pure uncertainty, that voice a mere echo of a whisper even in her lowest moment of ambiguity.

"Haven't we already discussed this?" Haughty. Completely inconsiderate of her inner disorientation; although she found no reason for him to express such a kind and humane act. But, he was_ 'the Nightmare King'_...who did he have to consider besides himself?

Her teeth clenched in sync with her tightened fists, and she stood rapidly as though violent, body tense against the familiar cold of the breeze. Hallow's tattered skirt flew and fluttered with her movements, and her hair seemed to whip rapidly in a state of irritation. Who did she blame? Why was she alive? There were so many questions; inquires that he supposedly had answers for but refused to supply. That was _so_ like him.

"Do you _really_ want to know?" He made the entire ordeal a joke to simply mock her. His tone was laced with this bitter sarcasm that faintly burned her skin with its spite.

"Of course I do!" She snapped at him, tired of his vulgar insults and verbal stalling. The echo of her tone escalated in volume.

"Then accept my offer, they'll never know it was you."

"Give me back my broom!" She yelled even louder, the voice of a phantom booming in its own echo across the rooftop. Such a random request, they had both noted. She simply wanted what was her own, the desperation seeming to engulf her further; leaving the ghost with nothing but anxiety and pitiful irritation that forced her toes to curl with pained impatience.

"..." He remained silent, smirk still in place even with a loss of words. A shadow stretched out from his cloak, her broom bolting up from the grim pool of ink and being snatched with a single fluid movement of his arm. He inspected it, his eyes sparkling in a mischief she was sure she'd exhibited in the past. Although he continued to display this repugnant charade she caught the vague quirk of his grin, the upturned lips faltering slightly in a thought she could only hope to be discomforting. The older narrowed his eyes before simply shrugging away the obvious concern, tossing the utensil as though it were but a bone to mutts and not a weapon to a spirit. Pitch replenished his smile with her reaction, observing the ghost as she bolted from her spot and met the broom halfway in the air; curling around it possessively before floating further through the breeze.

"This is all I want. Deceive North on your own."

A frown. Hallow briefly relished in seeing such a rare expression cross his face, the look of irritation that, at this specific instance, beckoned her to laugh rather than fall back with fear. She'd used such deviance to fool him, her interest truly lacking more than he'd presumed.

"Then you'll _never_ know." He said it simply, calming himself with a deep breath as well as the commonly used ritual of counting to ten. He gave her a daring stare, the gold reminding her of that buried side of him she'd found beyond peculiar.

"Why do you want corruption so terribly?" She tightened her grip on her broom, floating higher as a precaution. "You act as though you're the only one who's been forgotten."

He noticed she still spoke as though it were the 1800's, often using excessive terms and phrases that'd been abandoned throughout the ages. It was alluring, as most of what she did was. Although at this point he found his attraction merely due to the fact that she was one of the very few females he'd spoken with in the last fifty years; she was quite the irritating little brat despite this.

"My dear, you were _never _believed in_." _She took no offense, he had a point. And despite him being the beating heart of evil she could only imagine the devastation of once ruling the world, and for no apparent reason having it torn from your palms to leave nothing but the small specks of what once was falling between your fingers. She, rather than having something to relish in and cherish in the first place, had been relinquished of her prosperity among mankind as though the taking of an unborn child. It was existent, yet unseen and stolen before its first heartbeat; a possibility that was incapable of progression.

"Very true." She contemplated the remark, the countless years of waking and remaining alone slowly being brought back into the fresher portions of her mind. The sorrow, the sighs, the words she'd spoken to no one due to the lack of companionship.

"_Do. You want. To __know?" _He asked sternly after such a lengthy silence, his tone seeming urgent despite the lack of limitations on his plan. Pitch was just impatient, and he was carefree in expressing it.

She looked up to the Moon, hardening her resolve at the luck of catching him when he was fully visible, then back to her broom. Although it was little, her powers were great. Replenishing the recently deceased back to Earth as a visit for closure was nothing meager. It assisted willing them to the afterlife. Control over the past spirits was beyond powerful even if it was the only relevant thing she could do. It was important; it was the original purpose of Hallow's Eve. Although her mere hobby of keeping children content with their holiday mischief was beyond inspiring, she could only wonder what it would be like if they truly believed in her.

"Perhaps." The reply was shaken, uncertain and weak. In a swift drop of her body she phased through the concrete floor, disappearing from his sight in a most irritating manner. Just as she'd done in their previous encounter the insufferable girl vanished with the wind and left him alone to curse under his breath. He hated such an answer.

"_Perhaps." _He muttered it, mocking the ghost with a bitter countenance of agitation and spite. She knew where he would reside, so a proper answer would be provided soon. He didn't worry over it, despite this being the second time he assured himself of her decision...Hallow would not deny him.

* * *

It wasn't until another week that she finally mastered the social art of confrontation. Her broom resting on her shoulder, her toes buried deep in the moist soil of the woods and her eyes focused on that of the Moon as she attempted to catch his attention. Its light radiated, and upon the brightening illumination Hallow was sure he focused on her form alone.

"You have them...don't you?" She spoke up, that eerie tone of the dead phasing past the trees into the mere echo of the land. "_My memories?"_

Silence met her ears, he would not respond. The Man in the Moon refused to interact, refused to alter the scale of what was to come. He sought to be more like Mother Nature; without favor. But he still found her assumption partially incorrect, he did not have them…he could not remove something from her mind with literally removing such from her skull. She was but a creation, one he'd made only a year before Jack Frost as well as an unfortunate experiment he learned from.  
"You know what I can do. _You _made me this way_. _Give them back to me...or I assist_ Pitch." _A daring attempt at a threat, a choice that was more heart-wrenching than threatening, for Hallow did not possess the ambition nor the audacity to awaken and use the dead. Though she was devious, she always somehow drew a line she dare not cross with the thought of self-preservation halting her steps; a line that Stingy Jack found no need to possess. She waited another moment, observing the clearing she stood in, the trees perfectly vertical and their branches seeming elongated with the lack of leaves. It reminded her of the clearing she was 'born' in, where she inhaled her first raspy breath of air and first took flight on her broom. That far off location within the depths of some European forest, a place that seemed to cause her discomfort; she'd promised herself to never return.

"As always, I'm left without an answer." Hallow huffed, her eyes piercing each obvious crater visible to the naked eye. Its glow illuminated the darker atmosphere of nightfall, that once reassuring comfort she found in him vaporized with the secrets he kept from her.

A whisper.

_'Toothiana.'_

Her head snapped back just as she turned to leave. Now there were numerous whispers, an unexplained turmoil that suddenly invaded her surroundings in a twister of information and ache. She held her head, hyperventilating with each sauntered moment of inconceivable realization that stained her mind with regret. Her eyes seemed to sting with desperation, attempting to cry but again realizing, for the hundredth time, that there is no water in her body to sob. So as she collapses, trembling against the fallen and crusted needles of the pines, this pain erupts from her chest and her head that overwhelm all of her senses. She feels dead again...because that was all she can remember.

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_**~End Chapter Four**_

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**Could I request a review along with a vote on the poll featured on my FF profile?  
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**Someone suggested a scene involving sexual content, a scene which I am perfectly capable of writing but unsure of as far as including it within the story. So, although I feel it as a 'no' I would still ask _you_ to vote for your own opinion! **

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	5. Melanie

**Pitch x Oc**

**Enjoy~ **

**Chapter 5; 'Melanie'**

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_**Modern Day**_

* * *

She had waited a week for no particular reason and without any legitimate purpose. A week wasted and spent floating from Europe and back to the States, a week thinking and torturing herself of an undoubtedly worthless decision that had the potential of halting her everlasting curiosity. The courage to ask North to use his portal left an embarrassing ache, regardless of his heavy laugh and instant consent. He'd patted her back jollily, insisting that she didn't need to ask and could instead use it to her 'heart's delight'. She found herself incapable of mustering the audacity to say she had no heart, her chest void of any constant beat able to offer any living thing comfort.

The clouds drifted against her skin as she held onto her broom; the memory of once allowing it to slip from her grasp and falling a hundred feet not a pleasant one. She was so weak, powerless without her broom. When Pitch had taken it…she'd been some helpless accident ready to collapse, perhaps fade away into some warm oblivion she'd often found herself wishing to see.

The fairies skittered past her, back and forth, chattering, squeaking, exchanging endless conversation before glancing at her with mixed greetings of both varying forms of trepidation as well as brief acknowledgments accompanied by faint smiles. Every single one fluttered their wings and quickened their pace, keen on avoiding the dead.

"Toothiana…" Her approach was scorched with hesitation, radiating a form of anxiety as she set a foot against the golden floor of such an immaculate palace, built with the warming colors of magenta and radiant pink. The fairy was humming about, fluttering around at some unearthly speed as she jolted from one cascading platform to the other, a vexing air to her peculiarity. In all truth Hallow despised her, despite her unwavering kindness the hatred that bellowed for the Guardian was immeasurable due to the her prickling envy.

She did not blame herself. No, it was too often that emotions were so overbearing that one could not control themselves when drowned and mocked with it on a consistent basis. Even as the cherry-hearted individual looked to her with a swift turn of the head, a wide smile and a warm welcome...she felt nothing but discomfort and spite. Luckily it had not shown, the other's ignorance of her true feelings was something Hallow found helpful at times. Now would be a perfect example.

"Halloween!" She jolted forward, coming all to close and invading any personal boundaries possible. She'd always called her by her holiday, more or less on accident or by misinformation rather than an insult to her existence.

She was perfect…a miraculous collage of stunning colors, all bright and reflective enough to illuminate her body like some picturesque creature from mythology. The point of her nose, the faded pink of her skin, the elongated lashes that put her already lengthy ones to shame with their violet pigment, dazzled with the end tips widening into little fans adorning the vivid pink of her irises. She was not human…neither was Hallow…so why was she so immaculate in every possible way? Kind, visually stunning, excited, perky, selfless and caring.

The question picked at her mind as the older invited her further into the palace; what was she?

Gloomy, dull, afraid, devious, distrusting, ratty, scary and all around unpleasant. It had been obvious when seeing the reactions to her form, the expressions of disbelief, fear, anger and caution. People had never been fond of her; although there were the few exceptions that'd been dumbfounded, amazed and intrigued…they were rare and usually children. Her love for children…the unnecessary need to please them is what made Halloween into a joke. Rather than its original purpose of raising the dead for closure it was now some playful event that distracted everyone from the actual darkness of midnight, making her job a side-show. It was the only night they ran around in the dark without fear, which was ironic. Considering that Halloween was the only day the dead literally walked the earth...they should be afraid. Yet she couldn't bring herself to intentionally frighten them.

She didn't know why she cared for youths, babies in particular. It had always been unexplained.

"How was this year?" Toothiana interrupted her thoughts, smile broadening by the second, so wide that the possibility of a broken jaw was keenly noted.

"It was pleasant…" That echo of a voice made her head cock to the side, feathers ruffling with the breeze, the faintness of the prolonged whisper that followed Hallow's initial speech making several fairies shiver as they stored away the teeth. "If you are too busy-"

"-Oh no! It's fine. I needed a break!" She waved a dismissive hand, the perfection of her nails beyond noticeable even to someone blunt in observation.

"Then…I would like to ask you a favor." The ghost floated a bit, transparent toes skimming the floor as she asked with an odd sense of bashfulness. The fairy was silent, nodding as a visual response before awaiting her own. "I require my memories."

She paused, the flutter of her wings slowing as she curled a bit it the air, pondering a moment. Halloween was certainly not Halloween before becoming a holiday watcher, undoubtedly so. Several of them had names before they'd been subjected to life after death, or an elongated existence. The Leprechaun, Stingy Jack, Jack Frost, even Pitch. All of which had carried a life before this new external one, most of them coming to her for the same exact reason. It only guilted her to say that she did not have answers.

"Alright, I just need a name." Although it was not loud her smile never once faltered, the comment making Hallow even more anxious than before.

There was this dreadful pause than made Tooth fluttered her wings in hopeful anticipation, the likelihood of Hallow even recalling her death much less her name an impractically slim chance.

"I-…don't know it." The truth…she could remember nothing but the feeling of dying. The feeling of pain and angst and hunger. The cliché bundle, she presumed.

"Then…" Her lips curved downwards, that sweet tone dulling into a vague mutter. "…there's nothing I can do." A voice full of sincere pity, sympathy and apology that made the ghost grit her teeth and curl her toes out of impatience.

"It's alright, I understand."

A good time to vanish, she assumed. Her feet began dating into the patterned floor before the fairy spoke up as though reflex.

"You know, you can stay a bit if you'd like." She shrugged as if it were a jittery fidget, feathers twitching and eyes sparkling with energy.

Another painfully awkward pause, a vague stillness that made Tooth's fairies slow their deliveries as they passed, only to watch. And what had possessed her to answer so easily? Hallow didn't know.

"…Alright."

* * *

_**1604**_

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Upon waking Elizabeth found a thin coat of sweat trailing over her face, her hands a jittery mess and the room's smell significantly different from when she'd first fallen asleep. There was no rousing dreariness accompanied by crusty flakes from her eyes as usual, in fact morning had yet to hypothetically arise over the ranges of mountains isolating their countryside…instead she woke alert. The chill of the room was caught in her throat, her breaths heavy as the woman greedily inhaled the air. She sat up, hands still trembling against the scratchy blanket of unwashed wool that was now coiled in her lap.

She swallowed, her attention shooting to the darkened corners of the room, the light of the house nothing but that of the Moon's crescent shape. An unearthly whisper reached across the room to her ear, the cool call of her name infecting each nerve of her body with a thick trepidation that did nothing but increase her assumptions of insanity. She shivered, a slight sob shaking from the thin confines of her throat as she pulled herself to her elbows from the poorly woven linen that made a bed. A shadow moved, as they often did. This trapped feeling encased her, beckoning the tears she'd recently found constant.

He shifted drowsily at her motions, leaning up on his side as he set a steady hand upon her shoulder, much too tired to use an intimidating grip.

"Elizabeth, for the love of God, it's nothing. Sleep." A weak attempt at reassurance, he knew, but her midnight episodes had recently become ridiculous. Ever since the birth of their child she had acted so paranoid, filled with this endless anxiety that haunted her. He assumed it was the baby that caused some motherly instinct to overwhelm her, so her forbid the child to sleep with them until whatever illness she'd attained while in labor passed.

"William…no, William it's here again!" She tried to whisper, ending her proclamation with a shaken and unintentional yell that made him wince. She shook at his sleeve, glancing at the worn egg-crate used as crib.

"Shut your trap Elizabeth! There's nothing there!" He yanked her back, also stealing a cautious eye at the baby before turning away from his 'wife'. He would marry her someday…and in a religious community he held his tongue from priding himself in knocking up a bluestocking*. Perhaps the reading had driven her mad? Women had no business reading anyway.

"But Will-"

"This is why they all think you're crazy!" He threw a hand towards the window, yanking the wool blanket and shifting further into the linen pile. He would ignore her for the rest of the night, and tomorrow he would rise and someone, only God knows who, would confront him of their ruckus despite the lack of neighbors. In such a paranoid community it would be difficult

It'd been bad enough she could read.

* * *

"I told you settling down was a bad idea!" He launched his chair across the floor; jaw tight as the stifled crying of his daughter beckoned a headache to pulse against the back of his faded blue eyes. The town had claimed her possessed, the duo immediately being outcasted for their strange behavior.

"Well what did you expect!" She screamed back, less out of anger than worry as Elizabeth attempted to hush the child. "We can't go around stealing things anymore! We can't play pranks and 'borrow' horses and eat out of vegetable patches that aren't ours!"

"We _still_ can!"

"_Not_ with a baby." The woman stood idle, barely shaking her head before rocking on her toes to sooth Melanie.

"And then you name it_ 'Melanie'._ Nothing normal like _Susan_ or _Helen_! Let's just have the bloody town burn us at the steak so they won't have to hunt us first!" He paced, the poorly set floorboards creaking beneath his heels and the weeds coming up being crushed under his foot. The foliage around their little cabin grew astoundingly, the house abandoned for an unknown amount of time before their claiming it after trudging through town. He bought a cow and geese and stole seeds from a shop without notice, and he promised her a good home after agreeing to her pleas of settling for once.

"I don't care of your opinion…I like Melanie…"

* * *

It was only until nightfall that the old tales of the Bogeyman possessed her mind once again, supposedly harmless and yet so terrifying that the chill of her skin radiated onto the linen. Her shivers went unnoticed, Will seeming to have planned to ignore her before even laying his head down to rest.

'_Elizabeth.'_

Her _name_. It _knew_ her _name_. The _demon_ knew her name. She sent out the most Christian prayer possible, immediately taking it back at the memory of the town Preacher telling all to bother God for nothing but repentance. Who was she to believe? Her father had raised her without religion, being an immigrant from the closer borders of Korea as well as raised in something equal to that of a barn.

As a child he'd warned her often of the demons, saying they come with ill tidings only to watch you squirm. It had nothing to do with punishment…perhaps for living, but nothing more. They preyed on the weak, the innocent, and the harmless just for the satisfaction of inducing fear.

'_Elizabeth.'_ The vague echo of a chuckle, an infection of her ears as she buried her face into her hands. Her fear got the best of her, looking back to Mealini to find her lying still with the exception of her breathing: the blankets were consistently huffing in a pattern, the cold air undoubtedly stinging the child's lungs.

She shook William's shoulder, so violently that he slapped her hand away as hard as he could. The whisper hitched in a chuckle, it held no sympathetic saunter as she was shoved off of their linen fabrics and against the dirt and stems growing from the cracks. She gasped at the impact, hand defensively against the thudding of her heart and eyes snapping from one end of the room to the other.

A grin curled into existence from the twisting darkness, the odd forms of shadows bellowing into an outline but settling into a vague silhouette and nothing more. It expelled this dreariness, warping and standing tall against the corner in the lost intimidating way possible. She screamed a bleeding sound of petrified agony and trepidation, William bolting up as a response and gripping the hatchet beneath his pillow. He groggily followed her gaze, tense, the breathing of his wife faltered and heavy and afraid as she frantically dragged herself across the floor to the wall. Her heels bled from the splinters as she kicked herself back, tears flowing down her face at the monstrosity that was undoubtedly a demon. The supposed 'Bogeyman' she'd been told of since her birth. The second it moved she bolted to Melanie, quivering as the child began to cry upon waking.

Yet upon full analyzation William saw nothing, but for Elizabeth...it was still there.

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_**~End Chapter Five**_

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